I smile. Riley.
"No, we are not... there is no conflict of interest," she stammers. "It was purely for transport. My rental couldn't—" She stops, listening again. Her face flushes a deep crimson. "I understand. Yes. I'll be there in an hour."
She hangs up, looking like she’s about to be sick.
"Problem?" I ask.
"Someone sent a picture of us," she hisses. "Of me on your bike. Arms around you. The Mayor says there are rumors circulating that we're... involved. He's concerned about the integrity of the permit hearings if the opposing counsel is sleeping with the applicant."
"Are we sleeping together?" I ask, raising a brow. "I must have missed the best part."
"This isn't a joke!" She paces, her heels clicking on the stone. "If my firm hears about this, I could be pulled from the case. I could lose my partnership track. I need to issue a denial immediately."
"Deny it," I shrug. "See if they believe you. You know how small towns are. Once the story is out, the truth doesn't matter."
She stops pacing and glares at me. "You planned this."
"I planned to show you the site. The town did the rest." I move toward her again, my expression hardening. "But maybe this isn't a disaster, Cassandra. Maybe it's an opportunity."
"For who? You?"
"For both of us." I stop in front of her. "The council is deadlocked. The town is split. Half of them want the jobs and the safety center; the other half are scared of the 'big bad bikers.' But if they think we're together..."
"If they think we're together, it's a conflict of interest!"
"Not if we frame it right," I say, my mind working fast. "We tell them we're negotiating. That we're finding a middle ground. The environmentalist and the biker, bridging the gap. People eat that shit up. It softens my image, makes me look reasonable because a smart, classy woman like you sees something in me. And for you... it shows you're not just an outsider trying to dictate rules. It shows you're listening to the locals."
She stares at me, her mouth slightly open. "You want to fake a relationship? To get a zoning permit?"
"I want the permit," I say, my voice dropping low again. I step close, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger on her jaw. "And I want you to stop fighting me."
Gooseflesh ripples down her arms. "This is unethical. It's insane."
"It's the only way you stay on the case," I point out. "If you deny it and they don't believe you, you're pulled. If you lean into it, say we're working closely to resolve the dispute... you stay. You get to keep your eye on the falcons. And I get my center."
She looks at me, searching for the trap. She's smart. She knows there's more to it.
"And what do you get out of it, Chase? Besides the permit?"
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing her bottom lip. It’s soft, full, trembling.
"I get you," I say simply.
"For the charade," she clarifies, though her voice is breathless.
"Call it whatever you want, Counselor." I lean down, my lips brushing her ear. "But you're not leaving Pine Valley until I say so. And right now... I say you're mine."
She doesn't pull away. She doesn't argue. The fight has gone out of her, replaced by that thick, heavy tension that precedes a different kind of struggle.
"One month," she whispers. "Until the next council vote. We pretend to cooperate. We pretend... whatever this is. And then I leave."
"One month," I agree.
I don't tell her that in one month, her pussy will be so addicted to my length that the thought of Boston will make her dry. I don't tell her that I’m going to spend every second of that month claiming every inch of her skin until she’s leaking for me oncommand. I don't tell her that once a Gunnar claims something, he keeps it forever.
"We have a deal?" I ask, my hand sliding up her thigh to the very edge of her lace panties.
She looks at my hand, then at my eyes. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "We have a deal."
